i s o b e l

When Maggie stopped speaking, Isobel was quiet for a long time. She stared out at the doorway, letting her mother's words sink in.

Her mother had known all of this. For the year they had lived in isolation in the countryside house, she had known. And she had lied, every day. Had acted like nothing was wrong. Nothing was different.

Had acted like she hadn't erased years from her own daughter's mind.

Without looking back at her mother, Isobel stood. She walked to the door, and turned the corner to see Draco. His eyes met hers at once, and she saw the pain in them, and her anger intensified.

She took his hand and pulled him into the ward. Without hesitation; without saying a single word, he followed.

Maggie was sitting up in her bed, wringing her hands. When she saw Draco, her expression flooded with fear. "Isobel," she croaked, "Isobel, you said you wouldn't -"

Isobel was so filled with rage that her entire body felt tense, but she dropped Draco's hand and walked to the foot of Maggie's bed.

"I hate you," she said to her mother. She felt a lump rise in her throat and tried to swallow it down; was so sick of crying all the time - "I hate you, and I hate that you tried to control my life so that it would make yours better. You have ruined so much for me."

Maggie was crying now, too, and Isobel ignored the guilt that pressed at her heart; how dare her mother play with her life as if she were a puppet on strings -

"You can't be together," said Maggie, her eyes darting between Isobel and Draco. "It's too dangerous, Isobel - his father is going to find you -"

"He already found me," said Isobel, and Maggie's face paled once more. "He found me, and he threatened me, but I'm dealing with that on my own because that's what normal people do. Normal people don't lock up their daughters - don't shut themselves off from the world -"

The lump in her throat had risen so much that it was difficult to speak. She felt tears, hot on her cheeks, but did not bother to hide her face or brush them away. Felt she could do nothing but glare at her mother, who was squinting up through her own tears:

"Lucius is an evil man," said Maggie. "He will do - anything - to get his way -"

"So let him try!" said Isobel desperately. "Leave him to it, let me fight for myself. There were different ways to help me than - than altering my whole mind -"

She broke off. Felt the betrayal like a dagger, twisting in her gut. "I gave you so many chances," she said. "I made so many excuses for you. I overlooked all of the evidence that pointed towards it having been you that took my memory, because I didn't think you would do that to me. I didn't think you could."

"I just wanted to protect you," said Maggie, her voice barely more than a whisper, "I love you."

"That," said Isobel, "was not protecting me. That was trying to change who I am."

From far away, she felt Draco's fingers at her elbow, on the sleeve of her jumper. Felt him step closer, saw, in the brink of her vision, his head of white-blond hair -

She saw Maggie's eyes move to Draco. Saw the shift of fear in her expression.

And then he spoke. "I understand why you did what you did, Maggie," he said. "I understand loving a person so much that you will do anything to keep them safe." Isobel turned to him, and saw that his eyes were on her, running down the features of her face as he formulated his sentence. "That - sometimes - you just want to hold onto them so tightly and never let them go, because you fear that something terrible might happen if you do."

His gaze dropped to Maggie. "I've felt that way about your daughter for four years now. Even in the time that I believed I would never see her again - she was the person I loved most. She's the person I love the most now, still, and I'm sorry that she is that person for both of us."

Isobel took a shaky breath, but said nothing. Could not tear her eyes from him, and he kept speaking:

"I'm not sure that this will be of any consolation to you at this moment," he said to Maggie, "but I will go to any length to protect her from anyone who tries to harm her. Including my father." His eyes met Isobel's. He brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of a single knuckle, right at the scar on her cheekbone. "If she allows me to, that is."

A heavy silence settled on the hospital room. Maggie stared up at Draco, fearful and mistrusting. She appeared to be picking through his words, trying to find a flaw in them. But if she found something she didn't like, she didn't say it.

Isobel felt her bottom lip begin to tremble. "Do you understand now, Mum?" she asked. "He wants the same things as you. We're on the same side."

Maggie shook her head. "No," she said, hoarsely. "He's a Malfoy. You'll never be on the same side."

"Mum -"

"It doesn't matter how much you care for each other," said Maggie, "you don't live in a world that allows you to be together. It's too dangerous."

Isobel shook her head, incredulous. She stalked to the chair where her coat lay, shoved her hand into its front pocket and dug out her star necklace. "Is there a way to remove the magic from this?" she asked, holding it out in her palm. "I want it gone." She blinked back tears. "The magic, the enchantment you put on the necklace. I don't want it there anymore."

"I can't take back the spell," said Maggie. "I told you, I tied my life to that necklace. The magic will exist in it until I. . . As long as I. . ."

She trailed off, and Isobel understood. When Maggie died, one day, the necklace would be back to normal. Until then, it would protect her from anyone who tried to attack her.

"You should be wearing it," said Maggie. "Please, put it back on -"

"I'm not going to tell you again," said Isobel, her voice cold. "I don't want your protection. I don't want you controlling my life like you do. I never asked for any of that."

She dropped the necklace onto the bedside table, beside the pink flowers she had arranged only an hour before. Then, with her coat in her arms, she turned her back on Maggie.

She walked out of the room, her mother's quiet cries echoing behind her.

When she reached the end of the corridor, she turned, expecting to see Draco behind her. But he was out of sight, still in the ward.

She shut her eyes and curled her hands so tightly into fists that her nails dug into her palms. She understood that she and Draco hadn't had an easy relationship; was well aware that they existed on opposing sides of a war. But it blew her mind that adults persistently thought they knew what the best thing was for them. Continuously pried and intervened and played with their lives, trying to create the version they liked most. Not giving a damn, apparently, about what Isobel or Draco wanted for themselves.

When she opened her eyes again, Draco was leaving the ward. Walking towards her, his own coat slung over a shoulder. When he reached her, he stopped. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," she said, turning. She feared that if she said anymore than that, she might begin to cry again - and she had lost count of the amount of times she had cried that day. "You?"

"I'm angry at my parents," mused Draco, so casually that they might be discussing the weather. "But not surprised. They've interfered with my life for as long as I can remember." He held the door of the stairway open for her. "But I hate that they treated you the same way."

"It was more so your father, by the sounds of it."

"No," he said. "My mother allowed it all to happen. She could have put her foot down and said no. Tried to stop him. But it didn't sound like she was opposed to your memories being taken at all."

Isobel looked back at him. Saw a crease between his eyebrows; a betrayal of his calm exterior, and her chest tightened with anger. "My mother was the one who allowed it," she said. "She could have just - I don't know. Told your dad to leave us alone. Shut the door in his face."

"No," said Draco, shaking his head. "After the war, my father was desperate. Our family's status had been ruined. I fear to think what he would have done if your mother had refused him."

"But she didn't even try to refuse him," said Isobel. "She didn't fight back. She wanted my memories gone."

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and crossed the hospital lobby together. The eyes that followed them only further kindled the flame of anger she felt. She glared back at the people around the lobby. Wanted to scream that it wasn't any of their business. That none of them would understand, anyway.

Draco pushed open the front door of the hospital, and they stepped out into the cold. "She did it because she loves you," he said. She looked up, surprised. Saw only the hard lines of his face, looking down at the ground ahead as they walked. "I know you don't want to hear that. But everything she did was to keep you safe. Because she loves you, and she's afraid to lose you."

"I understand her intention," said Isobel, nettled. "But taking my memories of you wasn't the solution to keeping me safe."

"Wasn't it, though?" he asked, putting his hands in his pockets. "She was trying to erase from your life the thing that put you in the most danger."

"I don't understand why you're defending her," said Isobel - and she wasn't annoyed, merely perplexed. "She ruined everything for you, as well."

"I know," he said. "But she took your memories and moved out of your house less than a day after you were almost killed. I'm not saying it was right. I'm just saying she did it because she'd almost lost you, and she was afraid to lose you again."

Red and green Christmas lights dotted the street. They moved over Draco's fair hair as they walked, and Isobel was reminded of the night in the club; the lights dancing over his disbelieving expression when he saw her.

"My parents, on the other hand," he said, "didn't do any of it out of concern for my safety. They did it out of concern for their reputation."

"Hence your almost-engagement to Astoria," said Isobel.

She watched Draco's breath fog up in the cold air. "Yes," he said, and the crease between his eyebrows reappeared. "Hence why they're rushing all of that."

They lapsed into silence for a while. Isobel thought about Lucius Malfoy; remembered the malice he had seen in his eyes. The utter lack of empathy, his only care for his status. His reputation. Her mother cared too much for her: perhaps Draco's father cared too little for him.

"What were you talking to my mother about?" she asked. "When I left the ward. Did she say anything more?"

Draco reached into the back pocket of his trousers. He pulled out the necklace, and held it out. "She asked me to give this back to you."

His hands were much larger than Isobel's, and in his palm, the chain was tiny. The silver star glinted up at them; the engravings of Isobel's initials barely visible under the streetlights.

Isobel opened her mouth to say something disdainful, but he was already shoving it back into his pocket. "I think it might be safer with me, for now" he said, and she heard his amusement, light in his voice. "I fear you might throw it away in a fit of rage."

"That's the memory I want to see first," she said, looking up at him. "The Ministry Christmas party."

"That seems like a good place to start."

For the rest of the journey back to his apartment, they walked in silence. And Isobel found that her mind was spinning not with thoughts of her mother's betrayal, but with thoughts of Draco. Of the necklace that he had bought for her, long before they had even started dating. Her own star.

As they passed the corner shop where they had bought wine the night before, Isobel paused. "Can we go in? I need to get something."

They walked towards the shop, which was empty but for the young cashier. She turned to Draco in the shop's doorway. "Actually, will you wait outside?" she asked. "It's a surprise."

-

When she left the shop, tucking a thin plastic bag under her coat, he was eyeing her suspiciously. She smiled up at him; blinked innocently. "What?"

"Spit it out, then," he said. "What's the surprise?"

She shrugged, turned on her heel, and they ambled down the street towards his apartment. "Guess you'll have to wait and see."

Back in his apartment, he flicked on the kettle. She collapsed onto his bed, pushing all thoughts of her mother as far from her mind as she possibly could. She closed her eyes and spread her limbs over his bed, then sat up as she heard him approach his room.

She could not suppress her smile as she looked up at him. "I got you a gift."

As she stood, she pulled the bag from her coat. His fingers brushed against her hands as he took it; his eyes on hers.

The bag was filled with small, hard, green plastic stars. "Glow in the dark stars," she said, no longer able to contain her excitement. "So you can have your own stars, too. You may take note that you now have many of your own stars, not just one. So I believe I have won the game."

He was still looking at her. His gaze lazy; a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. She wasn't sure if he had even yet glanced at the plastic stars in his hands. "What's the prize?"

She felt nerves bubble within her. She wasn't sure how to answer that, so said, "I know we could have just magicked the ceiling to look like the sky, like in the Great Hall. But these are your own stars."

She reached forward; tore open the packet that still lay in his hands. "They have these sticky things on the backs," she said quietly. Aware of his eyes, still following her movements. "And you peel them off and stick them to the ceiling."

"And they're for here?" he asked. "For this room?"

She nodded. "Or wherever you want them."

"Here is good," he said, taking a handful of stars. "But I don't see why we should restrict ourselves to the ceiling."

She watched as he stuck a plastic star to the wall, right beside the doorway. Then another larger star, a foot higher than that. Then another, over beside the wardrobe.

She joined him, smiling. Together, they covered the opposite wall in green stars. She stuck a few to the doors of his wardrobe, and another few to the windows.

Then he hoisted her onto his shoulders. She stuck the rest to the ceiling, with one hand nervously threaded into his hair, to steady herself.

When they were all out of stars, he crouched to let her down, and they stepped back to survey their work.

Isobel reached over to the light switch, and flicked it off. The glow of the stars dimly lit the room, shining from every surface; turning the space an eerie, blue-green.

She saw Draco's shadow in the dim light; watched him tilt his head back as he surveyed the stars. She reached towards him, brushed the backs of her fingers against his hand, and hoped that he understood.

It was no longer dark. There was no longer a need for him to sleep with the lights on.